


Take me under your wing (I won't fly away)

by chailattemusings



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Blood, Cuts, M/M, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chailattemusings/pseuds/chailattemusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young squire Kerry is doubtful and agitated the night before the competition for the crown, but King Ryan soothes him in the best way possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me under your wing (I won't fly away)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this piece of art. http://rooferfeef.tumblr.com/post/76933039026

The light beyond the courtyard was small, but bright, the flames from candles inside the servant’s quarters burning strong in the quiet night. Wind blew across the empty ground, slipping through the gates and brushing Kerry’s hair. He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the light touch, but didn’t keep his eyes off the servant’s quarters for long. The shack of mud and grass was barely enough room for the five men housed within it, half buried and ready to collapse in the next heavy storm. Kerry breathed deep and clutched the sword in his hand, stained with blood from the first day of the games. It weighed him down and stopped the listlessness in his head, the feeling that something was missing.

The door to the castle creaked. Kerry jumped and whirled at the sound, relaxing at the sight of his king, who stepped just beyond the threshold, a foot behind Kerry. The young squire turned his gaze back to the mud hut, staring at the tiny gap that served as a door, and the light coming from it.

“What troubles you, Kerry?” King Ryan was suddenly much closer, breaths puffing down Kerry’s neck. He shivered, the power of Ryan’s stance transferring in those bursts of air to shiver down his spine. The two hands at his waist bothered him less, holding tight, burying in the folds of his cape. Kerry did his best not to let his voice shake, and said, “I’m tired, I suppose. Today was long, my king.”

“Was it?” Ryan inched closer, his heavy cloak of furs and velvet pooling on the filthy ground. He would throw it out if it stained, and made no move to pull it back when a corner swept into the mud. “I think the competitors are more taxed than you.”

“Of course, sire,” Kerry said, never one to imply his king was in the wrong. “Fighting for the crown isn’t something I would want to do. But, all the same. I’m tired.”

“Hm.” Ryan hand’s tightened, and he moved closer, air ghosting over Kerry’s cheeks. “Are you regretting your decision to help me?”

“No!” Kerry said it too fast, working to soothe his stance and keep the panic out of his voice. Ryan picked up on the tenseness anyway, smirking against his face. He pulled Kerry’s sword from its sheath before Kerry could react, pressing frozen gemstone to his throat, the hand still on his hip gripping like a vice to keep him from running.

“It sounds to me like you would rather work for one of them,” Ryan hissed. The sword inched closer, a hair away from cutting into Kerry’s neck. The squire stilled, taking shallow breaths to keep his flesh from the blade. This wasn’t the first time Ryan put a blade to his throat, and it wouldn’t be the last, with the Mad King’s habit of twisting Kerry’s words to get a reaction.

He stood as tall as he could in his boots. “No, my king. You are my only master.”

“So you say.” Just as fast, Ryan took the blade back and slipped it in the sheath, heavy diamond weighting Kerry again, dropping him from the balls of his feet. He gasped and touched his neck, pulling his hand back to see a tiny drop of blood on his glove. It would heal within minutes. He wiped the stain on his pants and wet the leather of the glove with his tongue to get the last of it off.

Ryan, having stepped forward to stand at Kerry’s side, quirked an eyebrow. His eyes stayed on Kerry’s mouth long after he’d licked the blood away, keeping Kerry still and squirming. When he saw the tiny bob in his throat, the nervous swallow, he looked Kerry in the eyes again. “I’m retiring for the night,” he said, turning swiftly to reenter the castle. He paused at the door, long enough to add, “Be at my chambers within the hour.”

Kerry stood still again, looking to the hut, the unused home so unworthy that even King Ryan’s servants no longer slept there. The five men fighting for a shot at the next crown slept within, all of them friends and one of them Kerry’s host, before Ryan swept him in his good graces and made him a member of his court. Jobs and positions changed as fast as the name of the man with the crown, and the competitors wouldn’t sleep in the tiny hut for long. But still, Kerry envied the atmosphere that must be there, as he turned in and closed the heavy castle door behind him.

He crossed the small entry way and passed a second door to the castle’s true interior. The halls were so well known to him now that it only took a few minutes and a couple flights before he was at his chamber, passing by the guards and locking the door. He needed peace to prepare for the king.

The small room alone was better than the mud hut outside. It had the basics; a bed, a desk, a light to read by, and a wash basin. Kerry shirked off his clothes and went to the basin immediately. A filthy towel lay dry beside it, with a slab of thick soap. Kerry hurried to scrub himself down. He doused his face and hair, shaking it free of excess droplets. He washed under his arms, down his legs, in the creases where his skin folded when he moved, all the places that collected dirt and sweat not meant for King Ryan’s eyes or touch. Once assured he wouldn’t smell completely foul, Kerry grabbed a bottle of scented oil from the only drawer in his desk, and dabbed it on his skin in tiny swipes with two fingers. Behind each ear, in the dip of his neck, behind his calves, at the small of his back. It was vanilla scented, a cloyingly sweet smell that Ryan reveled in. Kerry tried many a bottle before he found the king’s favorite.

Dried and clean, Kerry put his clothes back on. For any other noble, it would be pointless, but Ryan told him more than once what he expected of his servants. He liked his presents to have pretty wrapping, that he might enjoy tearing it off. No doubt his clothes would lie in a torn pile on the floor by morning, and his king would revel in the sound of every thread breaking under his hand. Kerry picked up the looking glass on his desk and checked his appearance over once more, angling it from his face to his toes and ensuring that everything was in place. He left his cape and sword on the small bed.

The boots he wore were made from the finest leather second only to King Ryan’s, crafted with care and dyed the color Ryan chose for him, a deep blue that was both aesthetically pleasing and not so rare that it was mistaken for a royal color. Crimsons and purples were for King Ryan, only. Their fine craftsmanship kept the cold of the floor from his feet, but the air seeped under his neck, and Kerry shivered. He stayed close to the torches on the walls, passing a hand over them just near enough to catch the passing warmth before moving on. It would be a long walk to the king’s chamber, and Kerry wouldn’t be caught with freezing skin.

The door almost stopped him. With a small frame, built for long range rather than brute force, Kerry was no match for the heavy engraved oak and steel handles. The thickness kept out any noises from the king’s guests, and it fitted into the stone well enough to stop any poison or knives slipping through the cracks, should the two guards on either side fail to protect its entrance. Kerry knocked twice.

“You are free to enter,” the guard to his left said. Kerry jerked his head to look at him, and nodded. The last time King Ryan asked for his presence, they had been in the baths, and the time before that, the throne room. He had no experience with the king’s private chamber door.

Kerry gripped the handle tight and pulled. The guards paid him no mind, no doubt instructed not to help him. Kerry huffed and yanked, boots scraping the floor as he tried to anchor himself. The door budged all of an inch, groaning even with that small movement. The sound echoed up and down the hall, a reminder of failure as Kerry stepped back and tried to catch his breath. He let his hands fall to his knees and bent over, panting hard.

The door came forth, nearly smashing Kerry’s head in. He jumped back, catching the slightest glimpse of a gloved hand before it vanished, and the door stood still, open barely enough for his body. Kerry looked at the guards again, but they refused to meet his eyes. Kerry straightened his stance, turning to go through the small gap in the door. It closed behind him immediately, pushed closed with no effort by the guards. Kerry glared at it.

“Thank you for coming, Kerry.”

He remembered where he was, and quickly bowed, hair falling around his face from inside the hood of his coat. He could see King Ryan’s boots, polished and shining in the low light. The blood rushed to his head from anticipation and gravity, staring a long while at the fur trimmed boots.

He felt a pat to the back of his head, and stood. Ryan smiled at him, full of promises and sharp teeth. “You look nervous.”

“Never, sire,” Kerry said, shaking his head. “I’m only eagerly awaiting what you have for me.”

“Drop the act.” Ryan side stepped and curled around Kerry from behind, as he had in the courtyard. He pushed him forward, closer to the bed, and stopped, both hands on Kerry’s shoulders. Like a panther savoring its meal, he leaned close and pressed his nose to Kerry’s hood, one finger coming up to play with the embroidered edges. “I’m surprised you’re dressed.”

“I thought you’d want to play, sire.” Kerry ditched some of the formal language, but he dared not forget his king’s title. That would cost him dearly, and not in the good way.

He could feel Ryan smile against his temple. “You’re right. Get on the bed.”

Kerry did as told, laying on his back to face Ryan. Seeing him, dressed in elegant furs, pitch black coat, and the kilt he so proudly donned for the games with his friends, he was like a monster to Kerry, some great lion meant to tear him to pieces. His heart beat faster the longer Ryan stared at him. The king undid his furs and let the cloak drop, kicking off his boots and undoing the sporran with it. He kept the thick wool socks and his gloves, though, and only freed the top button of his coat before bending low and climbing on the bed.

Scuttling back came naturally, and while he tried not to, Kerry couldn’t help scrambling at the sight of Ryan’s smirk. Ryan put a hand to his chest before he could go too far, shoving him back into the pillows. Kerry gasped. Ryan bent down low, his knees either side of Kerry’s hips. Trapping him.

“Little pet,” he murmured, barely brushing his lips on Kerry’s cheek. “No need to be so frightened.” Ryan put one hand at Kerry’s side beside his shoulder, fisting the sheets. Kerry brought his shoulders up tight, his last resort for any type of cover. Ryan’s free hand wedged under his chin as he tried to tuck it close to his neck, forcing him to look up and directly at his king. “So precious.” Ryan chuckled, and bent close, kissing Kerry gently.

The softness took him by surprise, and Kerry opened to it. Ryan drew back once, twice, pressing sweet kisses on his lips. His tongue glanced across the surface, and Kerry parted for him. Ryan took a moment to thread his tongue around Kerry’s, mixing fluid and warmth and sending pleased coils of heat through his body. Between licks he kissed him again, and his pinky finger stroked along the bottom of Kerry’s chin.

Hesitating a moment, Ryan pulled back to meet Kerry’s heady gaze, the way his eyes were half lidded and his cheeks flushed to the brim. He smiled, and lunged.

Kerry gasped. Ryan forced himself on him and violently thrust in his tongue, sweeping in to claim what rightfully belonged to him. His hand grew tight on his chin, jerking once when Kerry tried to draw back. He bit with sharp teeth, blood swelling on Kerry’s lips. It stained Ryan as he surged forward again, taking every part Kerry had offered and more.

While he took gasps and blood and desire from his mouth, Ryan settled heavily on the bed, hips pressing and thighs squeezing. Kerry pushed into it, rising an inch off the bed, no better than that under Ryan’s weight. He whimpered, from the pain in his lips and the aching in his groin that Ryan made worse with the extra contact.

“Little pet,” Ryan hummed. He pulled back and pecked Kerry’s cheek, specks of blood from his bites peppering the red skin. Kerry’s face was a sunset of colors, natural cream mixed with red arousal, and now inked in with pain. If he were a better artist Ryan would have captured the moment. Instead he settled for cupping his cheek and running a thumb over the tiny splashes of blood, rubbing them into streaks. “You let your guard down,” he said, turning to look at Kerry. “You believed I would take mercy.”

A test. Kerry cursed at himself, head dropping back in the pillows. Not the first, and certainly not the last, but the stinging in his lips distracted from the thrumming in his groin. He could smack himself for thinking the king would be so kind as to offer a gentle session. Kerry wiped at the blood with a gloved hand, tongue darting out to lick the rest of it off. “I-I’m sorry, sire,” he muttered, breathing sharp and quiet. “I would not underestimate you.”

“So you say.” Ryan kissed his temple, the apple of his cheek, and below his chin, nipping at the soft spot below his ear. His hand slipped from his face to his hair, sneaking under the hood to grasp it tight and yank. Kerry yelped, neck exposed and chest arched. Ryan laughed and moved to suck a mark in the tight skin over his throat. A true predator, seeking the neck of his prey to snap it in half and claim the kill. Except Kerry had been claimed long before he even walked in the door.

While Ryan busied himself with his neck, Kerry focused on the feeling of Ryan’s hips on him, rubbing languidly over his tunic. He could feel the bulge under his kilt, against the dip of skin by his hip bones. He struggled to adjust, to get his own cock against Ryan’s and feel the heat of them together. Kerry put his feet on the bed for leverage, shoving up as hard as he could. It wasn’t much, but enough for Ryan to notice, stopping his ministrations to look between them at what had Kerry so distressed. “Oh, that,” he said, and laughed again. “You need attention, don’t you, little pet?”

Kerry nodded and shifted his hips again. Ryan brought down his unoccupied hand and pressed hard on Kerry’s erection. He ground on the fabric and pushed his thumb right on the head. Kerry cried out and thrust again, freed now that Ryan had moved enough to give him room. “Sire,” he panted, “please.”

“So needy.” Ryan clicked his tongue at him. “How am I to know you’re a good soldier if a simple rub down can have you begging? Hm?”

“I-I am!” Kerry groaned and rolled his hips into Ryan’s hand. “Only for you, sire, I only do this for you, I swear.”

Ryan took his hand away. Kerry whined and tried to sit up, but his king still had him by the hair and his legs were still over him. Ryan moved to lean next to his face, lips on his ear. “Prove it then,” he said. Kerry felt him smiling against his ear lobe. “Be so lewd for me that I know you would never show this part of yourself to anyone else.”

With a quick lean to the left, Ryan snatched something from the table beside his bed, an ever present bottle with a stopper so used that it barely stayed in, popping easily when Ryan tugged. He sat up again, one hand unbuttoning the rest of his coat, and offered the bottle to Kerry. It was recognizable from the rest of the Mad King’s potions by the slimness of the container, barely wide enough for one finger. Kerry took it and pulled his gloves off with his teeth, tossing them on the floor. Holding the bottle upright to keep it from spilling, he undid the tie on his tunic and removed it, exposing his chest to open air.

Ryan stopped his work on his own shirt, thick torso now visible, to pepper a few kisses to Kerry’s chest. Kerry moaned and squirmed. The attention only made his erection throb again, and he needed to fix it  _now_. But King Ryan insisted, holding his arms back by the biceps as he mouthed and bit at his chest, tongue curling around the nipples and nose nudging in the pale hair scattered about his skin. “It’s been too long since I tasted you.” He sucked on a nipple and bit again, until Kerry gasped, and pulled back to admire the teeth marks left there. It wasn’t enough to bleed, but Kerry would feel the soreness every time he dressed himself for the next few days.

“Enough.” Ryan moved, standing again, shirking off his coat and shirt, playing idly with himself over top of the kilt. “Prepare yourself,” he said, staring straight in Kerry’s eyes.

He still had the bottle, tilted and about to spill on the silk bedspread. Kerry quickly brought it back in front of him, able to sit properly without the king holding him down. With one hand, he pried his breeches off, rolling them down his thighs and ankles. He kicked his boots off with them, the clothes falling over the edge. Ryan stepped back to let them fall, and nudged them away with his toes before taking back his spot at the base of the bed.

Naked and blood humming, Kerry paused to take a deep, shuddering breath. Ryan stared at him with those twisted blue eyes, the color piercing in the low light. He toyed with himself and occasionally let out a low grunt, but otherwise made no move to help Kerry until he helped himself. Kerry poured some of the oil from the bottle in the palm of his hand, replacing it carefully on the table. He spread his legs, baring all before the king, and brought a slicked hand down to his entrance.

“Go on,” Ryan urged. Kerry would swear he grabbed his cock and stroked when he pushed a finger in, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to be sure. Kerry threw his head back and pushed up on the balls of his feet, pressing as deep as he could from this angle. Ryan was not a patient man, and so despite the mild discomfort, Kerry didn’t wait to push in a second finger and start thrusting. The stretch was not new, but it had been a while since Ryan asked him to his bed. It burned him, and he clenched around his own fingers. He breathed hard and worked to relax, scissoring his fingers to ease what would come later. He searched for the spot inside him that would offer some measure of relief, and found it, fingers pushing on the sensitive area. Pleasure shot through him like lighting, followed closely by a shot of heat as his pounding heart caught up to the sensation. He gasped and mewled, pressing as best he could against himself. His cock bounced on his stomach, leaking drops of precome. He looked at Ryan, eyes half lidded, and grabbed his cock gently, questioning.

Ryan glanced at the hand holding himself, and gave a tiny nod. Kerry muttered a quiet, “Thank you, my king,” before squeezing tight and shoving harder off the bed to thrust into his own hand. Each down thrust promised another touch to that spot inside him, and Kerry whined every time his fingers found it. The silk sheets had little friction and a few times Kerry slipped, falling back on his ass and dislodging his fingers. It took a minute to push them back in and find his sweet spot again, stroking his cock all the while and moaning like an animal in heat. Cheeks flushed and muscles aching from the strain, the young squire didn’t have to wonder why Ryan labeled him as a pet.

Somewhere in the middle of working himself, Ryan had disposed of his kilt. He yelped when a hand grabbed his own, yanking the fingers from him and leaving him empty. Kerry groaned, but took his other hand off his cock obediently. Ryan smiled wolfishly at the sight, pinning Kerry’s hands above his head and leering at him. “You were so good, my little pet,” he whispered, and brought a knee up to prod at Kerry’s balls. Kerry whined and pulled against the grip on his wrists. Ryan didn’t torture him for long, moving his leg to straddle Kerry as he had before. “Turn over.”

Hands released, Kerry scrambled to flip his body, knees coming under him to bring his ass to the air. Ryan pushed his chest until it hit the bed, humming his pleasure at the position. Like this, Kerry had no power, trapped as Ryan pressed his chest to his back and brought a hand down to tease his cock. Kerry cried out, thrusting desperately toward the contact. Ryan kept his hand just out of reach, the other hand grabbing Kerry tight on the hip and squeezing, urging him to still. Kerry buried his face in his arms, the sounds of his desperate begging and the heat of his own skin too much for him.

When play time was over, Ryan moved his hand away and grabbed the oil bottle from the table, dumping the last of it on his cock and tossing it. The glass shattered on the stone floor and shocked Kerry from his hiding place, peering back to watch Ryan slick himself. He kept a tight hold on his hip that stopped Kerry when he tried to shift back, to press on Ryan’s cock and take him in. Ryan made him stay still while he worked himself over, groaning at the contact. The muscles around Kerry’s entrance flexed once, empty without his fingers pushing in and aching for Ryan to fix it. His forearm was tucked near his face and he bit into the skin, left to writhe as Ryan rubbed against the small of his back and spread the excess oil on his skin. It dripped down his sides and onto the sheets. Ryan touched one of the trails, running his finger down the path of the oil, painting him. Kerry let out a muffled cry into his arm.

Ryan quirked a brow and bent forward. Seeing the restraint, he grabbed Kerry by the hair and yanked. He came off his arm, yelped, mouth open with heavy pants. “Don’t silence yourself,” Ryan ordered, and dropped him down again to keep painting. Kerry moaned, shifting incrementally to push against the hot pads of Ryan’s fingers. “Do you want it, my pet?”

“Please, sire,” Kerry begged. He thrust his hips back as much as Ryan allowed and felt his hot cock against his asshole. He whined again. “Please.”

Ryan laughed and returned his other hand to Kerry’s hip, holding both sides and squeezing tight enough to bruise. “If you want it so badly, then.” He leaned chest to back again, tongue slipping out to lick the back of Kerry’s neck while he pressed in. Kerry mewled and did his best not to clench. The stretch, oh god, he forgot about the stretch of a hot cock inside him, couldn’t have imagined it well enough when he spread himself for his king. It was nothing like his own fingers, the feeling of Ryan in him solid and constant. He opened Kerry up, pushed slowly until he was buried. Kerry tightened his muscles, testing the fullness of it. Ryan licked him again and bit the skin, occupying himself while he waited for Kerry to accommodate him. Kerry shivered, unable to choose which sensation he would rather focus on.

Another minute of waiting, playing with Kerry’s neck and blowing gently at the fringes of hair there, and Ryan was done being nice. He leaned back enough for proper leverage, grasping him tight again, and began thrusting. There was no gentle work up, no patience while Kerry adjusted enough to find pleasure in his actions. He merely grabbed and thrust, growling low as he did it.

Kerry cried out. His fingers curled, scrabbling for purchase as he cursed the exquisite silk sheets that had absolutely no traction. Ryan’s presence between his legs stopped him from bringing his thighs together, and his feet were losing balance. Kerry gasped and did his best to keep in position while Ryan used him, skin slapping on skin and predatory growls falling from Ryan’s mouth.

His hand dove underneath, taking Kerry’s cock tight, stroking in rhythm to the pace he set with his hips. Each pull drew a choked noise from Kerry. He pushed into it, working to make his king hit the right spot, shaking when he did. Heat flowed through him, molten pleasure that melted his senses and made him forget about the rest of the world.

“You’re such a good pet,” Ryan grunted, thrusting particularly hard and tightening his grip at the base of Kerry’s cock. “So loyal.” Thrust. “Obedient.” Thrust. “And such a delicious meal.” He bit into his shoulder again, holding it there until Kerry cried, and let go to lave at the mark. The rhythm in his pace was lost, crashing into irregularity. Even the king couldn’t keep constant focus in the throes of pleasure. He gave a final few thrusts before burying himself in his squire, moaning load and stroking Kerry hard. Kerry whimpered, coming at last in Ryan’s hand.

A moment after he pulled out, Kerry remembered his duties, and whispered, “Thank you, sire,” as he crashed down on the sheets. Ryan smiled and set himself above Kerry, on his knees. Despite the aching of his entire body, Kerry had one last job. He leaned up on his elbows, taking Ryan’s limp cock. He sucked and licked, tasting himself and the oil in a disgusting, bitter mix, until Ryan’s dick was clean save for the saliva. Ryan gave him a soft pat on the head and left to clean properly. Kerry leaned back in the pillows and buried his face in them.

He wouldn’t be allowed to stay; Ryan would clean himself and order that Kerry leave, back to his own chambers to wash and sleep. They had a long day ahead of them, with the next set of challenges. The competitors aimed for the crown, and soon the nights with Ryan would end as the cycle of royalty shifted yet again. Kerry shuffled his legs on the silk, relishing the feeling for possibly the last time.

To his shock, though, Ryan didn’t order him away. He wiped himself down with a cloth, brought it to Kerry and wiped down the sweat and come leaking from his hole, before tossing it in a corner and settling back on the bed. He tugged the sheets out from under Kerry and pulled them back over their bodies, tugging Kerry close to spoon him against his chest. “M-My king?” Kerry stuttered, peering over his shoulder.

“Hush,” Ryan whispered. “You and I both have a long day tomorrow. We must rest.”

Kerry waited for him to say something else, to elaborate or explain, but Ryan only closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, his arm tight on Kerry’s torso. His other arm slipped down and settled on his waist, curling into Kerry’s hip and trailing his fingers there as he relaxed. Kerry wiggled a bit until he felt comfortable, leaving Ryan’s arm enough space between himself and the bed that it wouldn’t fall asleep under his weight. “Thank you, my king,” he whispered, closing his own eyes.

Tomorrow, five men would fight for the next shot at the crown. For now, Kerry would sleep with his king, dreaming of heat and the bloodshed to come.  


End file.
